I was surrounded by mirrors of sugar, trees of chocolate, a carnival of cake, with a circus top of cream. The air was thick with the scent of caramel and spun sugar, an illusion of warmth and welcome—a lie wrapped in candy.

  And I was part of it.

  My clothes had changed. A long red coat, glossy like lacquered licorice, white buttons lined neatly like sugar pearls. My boots clicked against the cobbled road of gingerbread bricks, each step sinking just slightly, just enough to remind me this world was soft. Fake. Wrong.

  I scowled.

  “Damn it.”

  I tugged at the coat, my fingers running over the fabric, the material sticking slightly like it had been soaked in syrup. I had willed this into existence.

  I sighed, letting my body slump, my shoulders heavy with the weight of what was coming.

  I knew what I had to do.

  And I knew I was going to hate every second of it.

  A ripple of sensation crawled through me—something had stepped into the Ringmaster’s domain.

  I tried to fight it.

  I couldn’t.

  My body straightened, my stance changed, and before I could stop myself, I smiled.

  "Come one, come all! It’s the Carnival!"

  My voice was booming, rich, dripping with joy, the voice of a man eager to welcome guests, to bring in an audience.

  But it wasn’t my voice.

  It belonged to the Ringmaster.

  And I had no choice but to play my part.

  A boy stepped forward—no older than seven, clutching a stick with a tied cloth at the end. A wanderer, a runaway. The kind of child who had a fight with his parents and stormed into the woods, looking for adventure, looking for anything but home.

  His eyes sparkled as he gazed at the candy-coated wonderland before him. His small hands had already grabbed a gumdrop from a nearby bush, stuffing it into his mouth.

  He had no idea what this place really was.

  I clenched my teeth, but the role had already taken me.

  I smiled. My face betrayed me, twisting into something warm and inviting, something that lied.

  "Why, hello there, boy! Greetings and welcome! You have been chosen for the Grand Game! Would you like to play?"

  Internally, I was screaming.

  Run, child. Run now. Leave this place. I don’t want to do what the story is about to make me do.

  The boy tilted his head, curious. "What game?"

  His voice was pure. Innocent.

  He was just a child exploring the woods, walking off his frustration, stumbling into something that should never have existed.

  I tried to fight it. The compulsion twisted my thoughts, forced my lips to move.

  "Why, a most wonderful game! A most spectacular game! Win, and you can stay here forever, in this land of sugar and fun!"

  I could alter the words slightly—enough to add emphasis, but not enough to break the script.

  And internally, I was scowling.

  Walk away. Don’t say yes. Please, just walk away.

  The boy swallowed his candy and grinned. "Okay!"

  A surge of cold dread crawled up my spine.

  He was already eating the chocolate, the gumdrops. He was part of it now.

  His little voice was muffled as he spoke through a full mouth. "Whath happensh if I losh?"

  I felt the words crawl up my throat before I could stop them.

  "Dear boy, no one loses this game."

  The line was supposed to stop there.

  But I was allowed to add more.

  "It’s fun. Everyone joins the circus, whether they choose to be here or not."

  I smiled again, my expression kind, welcoming. A complete and utter lie.

  The boy laughed—laughed—as he stepped toward the Hall of Mirrors.

  The funhouse stood before him, bright and welcoming, its glass candy walls shimmering like a thousand stars.

  He walked inside.

  And I braced for what came next.

  I had expected to hear laughter from within.

  I had expected to hear footsteps, echoes, the sound of running children.

  What stepped out was not a child.

  It was not children at all.

  It was a chimera of candy and flesh, a writhing abomination, a mass of fused limbs and countless heads, its many mouths giggling, screaming, whispering, sobbing all at once.

  The colors of sugar swirled across its distorted body, eyes of caramelized glass staring in every direction.

  It lurched forward.

  And I had—

  I had nothing.

  No paper to use. No access to my Arte.

  I was the Ringmaster of this horror, and I had no way to stop what came next.

  Moons damn this.

  "To conquer a goddamn popup storybook, I have to fight that?!"

  I screamed the words into the twisted, sugar-coated nightmare surrounding me, my voice raw with rage, horror, and disbelief.

  But the carnival did not care.

  The circus top of cream stood undisturbed, the gingerbread streets remained pristine, and the melted candy lights of the Hall of Mirrors cast their eerie glow upon the abomination before me.

  And the beast—

  The chimera of children and candy—

  It wailed.

  A grotesque symphony of sorrow, the cries of countless stolen voices, each one layered over the next, forming a sound so unnatural, so wrong, that my stomach twisted on itself.

  Their mouths—dozens, maybe hundreds, overlapping in melted sugar and caramelized flesh—moved with no rhythm, no pattern. Some screamed, others giggled, some whispered words I couldn’t understand.

  It was tall, its twisted limbs folding over themselves, its surface an unholy fusion of gumdrops, chocolate, marshmallow sinew, and peppermint-coated bones.

  Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  It shuddered, its many heads jerking toward me all at once.

  I forced myself to move, to check my weapons.

  No bow. The book didn’t allow that.

  No Machina. The book didn’t allow that.

  I gritted my teeth, my body thrumming with the instinct to fight—but fight with what?

  I looked down at my hands.

  Knives.

  Not steel. Not iron.

  Candy canes.

  The hilts twisted into red-and-white spirals, the blades made of sugar-glass, sharp but brittle, as if meant for some sadistic joke of a duel.

  A goddamn candied shiv against that.

  I let out a bitter laugh, gripping the weapons in my hands, my knuckles turning white.

  "At least I’m not slaughtering children?"

  The words fell flat, my voice hollow.

  Because the truth was, I had already condemned them.

  Or rather—the Ringmaster I was being forced to play had.

  The chimera lurched forward, its mass of writhing limbs pushing against the sugary earth, its caramelized bones cracking with each unnatural movement.

  And then—

  It charged.

  The ground quaked beneath it, the air thick with the stench of burnt sugar and something far fouler.

  I moved on instinct, diving to the right, just as a massive, glistening fist of rock candy came slamming down where I had been standing. The force splintered the gingerbread street, sending shards flying in every direction.

  One cut across my cheek.

  Not deep. Not fatal. But enough to remind me—

  I was not escaping this unscathed.

  I gritted my teeth, gripping my sugar daggers as the monster whipped one of its many arms toward me—

  I barely managed to raise my weapons in time, the impact sending a jolt of pain through my wrists. The arm splintered on impact, a chunk of taffy-like flesh peeling away, but the beast barely reacted.

  Because it felt no pain.

  It was pain.

  I pushed back, trying to regain distance—too slow.

  A second limb swung, this one made of twisted caramel, stretching farther than I expected.

  I took the hit.

  The force threw me off my feet, sending me skidding across the ground, my coat tearing against the rough gingerbread bricks.

  I tasted blood.

  I coughed, gripping my side, feeling the dull ache of what would definitely become a deep bruise if I lived long enough for it to matter.

  The chimera loomed over me, its heads twisting, bending, shifting, their hollow eye sockets staring through me.

  The carnival lights flickered, casting it in a surreal, almost theatrical glow.

  Like a final act.

  I took a shaky breath, forcing myself to my feet.

  My knives were still in my hands. Shattered at the tips, but still usable.

  I had no Arte. No Machina. No tricks.

  Just candy blades, my own instincts, and a story that demanded I play my part.

  I had to win.

  Because I knew—

  If I lost, I would join the circus.

  This circus.

  This twisted, sugar-coated hell.

  I wouldn’t die here.

  Not in this mockery of a carnival, not in a world that shouldn’t exist, not as the ringmaster of a tragedy I never agreed to perform in.

  I wasn’t a Walker yet. I wasn’t free yet.

  But I wasn’t finished yet, either. I am weak. I could feel it in the burning of my muscles, the pounding ache of my wounds, the stark realization that every moment of training had only been a pale imitation of survival. I see it now. I can’t do this alone.

  A bow? Useless. The book didn’t allow it.

  My Machina? Gone. The book denied me that.

  Witchhunter? Djinn? No. I am neither.

  I am just an aspirant—a nameless figure at the beginning of the road, barely more than a boy holding a knife made of spun sugar.

  A Ranah-Tahiri? No. I am pathetic.

  I must walk before I run. I must leap before I fly.

  The words shimmered around me, forming in the air like whispers from a stage unseen.

  A moment of clarity.

  The wounds across my body were the price of realization.

  I had been coddled.

  The drills, the conditioning, the relentless training? Nothing compared to the real thing.

  The shock collar? A blessing in disguise—it had taught me how to endure pain.

  The bloodied feet? Preparations for now—they had taught me how to keep moving, even through agony.

  I breathed in.

  The chimera was close now, the scent of burnt sugar and spoiled confections thick in the air.

  The mass of writhing limbs, endless, wailing mouths, melted eyes dripping syrup—it moved toward me with inhuman, uneven steps, its towering bulk shuddering under its own weight.

  I tightened my grip on the candy shiv.

  It was pathetic. Fragile.

  So was I.

  But I wasn't done.

  One shot.

  One final thrust before the blade shattered in my hands.

  And after that?

  …Me.

  I was faster.

  I was smaller.

  It was bigger, but it was slower.

  Could I climb it? A well-placed shiv into its spine? Would that work? I had no other options. I had no backup plan.

  The beast lunged, its glistening caramel limb whipping forward in a blurred arc.

  I moved—not backward, but forward.

  I ducked beneath the first swing, but the second came too fast.

  I twisted, but…

  CRACK

  Pain bloomed across my ribs, my body spun through the air, and I barely managed to control my fall, rolling across broken bits of gingerbread bricks.

  I gasped. My lungs burned.

  The thing screeched, its many mouths chittering in a harmony of madness, and I knew—

  It wasn’t going to wait.

  It was going to finish this.

  So I moved.

  I sprinted forward, using my momentum to drive the candy blade deep into the nearest limb—

  The sugar fractured, the caramel split, and the chimera recoiled, screeching as a piece of its limb snapped away in a cascade of sticky syrup and broken peppermint.

  It wasn’t enough to kill it.

  Not yet.

  But it staggered.

  And that was the only chance I needed.

  I didn’t stop moving.

  I grabbed hold of the exposed, shifting mass of its shoulder and climbed—

  The heat of its body, the stickiness of the caramel, the sickening squish of gelatinous marshmallow flesh beneath my fingers; I forced down my revulsion and kept going.

  The monster shrieked, its limbs thrashing, trying to shake me off.

  I clung to it like a parasite, like something that refused to be swallowed whole.

  Higher.

  Higher.

  My hand found an opening—a split in the tangled mess of sugar and sinew, right where the spine should be.

  One final thrust.

  I raised the broken remains of my shiv; and plunged it deep into the wound.

  The chimera convulsed.

  The screams turned to cracking.

  The cracks turned to shattering.

  The creature twisted, its limbs folding inward, its form breaking apart like brittle sugar snapping under pressure.

  I let go just in time, landing in a crouch as the abomination collapsed in on itself, its many heads melting away, its candy-coated flesh crumbling into nothing but dust.

  The carnival fell silent.

  No music.

  No laughter.

  No twisted, wailing voices.

  Just emptiness.

  The circus began to fade, the candy trees withering, the gingerbread streets cracking apart.

  I exhaled, staring at the empty ruin of what had once been a nightmare.

  And then, then the book snapped shut.

  ***

  I gasped as my body was ripped from the pages, flung back into the real world at unnatural speed. The force sent me hurtling backward, and before I could brace myself, I collided hard with a towering bookshelf.

  The impact shook the entire study, books toppling from the shelves, dust kicking up into the air as I crashed to the floor.

  Pain blossomed in my chest, a sharp, deep agony that made my lungs scream with every breath. A wet, coppery taste flooded my mouth—

  I coughed.

  Blood.

  My vision blurred, but through it, I saw movement—

  Nathan was already at my side, his long, lanky form crouched next to me with unnatural speed, his hands already checking my injuries with precise efficiency.

  "What in the fifteen moons’ light happened to you?!" His voice was sharp, tense. "That was a children’s storybook!

  I winced, every word I tried to form pulling fire through my ribs.

  "Do… children…" I wheezed. "Normally…"

  The words were heavy, like each one had to be dragged out of my chest.

  Nathan’s sharp gaze scanned me, already calculating, assessing.

  Then—

  My fingers twitched.

  There was something in my hand.

  I barely had the strength to move, but I could feel it—solid, real, clutched between my bloodied fingers.

  I forced myself to look down.

  Something had followed me out.

  I didn’t have the strength to question it. Not yet.

  Nathan caught my movement. His lips pressed into a thin line before he exhaled and snapped open his Gloss-Crystal, the ethereal display shimmering to life in his palm.

  “First, hospital,” I managed to breathe out.

  He nodded once, already making the call.

  “We’ll need your permission to operate, but… you’ll live.”

  I nodded weakly.

  And then, despite the searing pain, despite the weight of exhaustion crushing me, despite everything that had just happened—

  I smiled.

  Because I understood.

  Everything has its price.

  And I had paid mine.